


I Want to (be)Leave

by spacegaysgalore



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Jim is trying his absolute best, Jim's whole entire life is him just asking what the fuck just happened, M/M, McCoy genuinely doesn't give a shit about anything, Mentions of past abuse, Mostly Fluff, Protective Spock, Spock is an alien prince, Spock just wants to talk to these dumb humans, Swearing, area 51 AU, because i am a sucker for fluff, except maybe Jim and everything else that goes on, janitor!Jim, pining jim, some kirk punching, space princess!spock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-24
Updated: 2017-03-04
Packaged: 2018-08-10 17:46:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 15,540
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7854907
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spacegaysgalore/pseuds/spacegaysgalore
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jim follows his government official mother to New Mexico, and eventually finds himself working as a janitor in Area 51. He tries his best to ignore all the spooky alien nonsense around the base, and gets into some bar fights along the way. When he's saved from a kick to the stomach by a mysterious pointy-eared gentleman, he realizes that the man isn't just metaphorically out of this world.</p><p>Inspired by just-shower-thoughts' tumblr post "I wonder who the lowest level employee is at Area 51".</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Begin Again

**Author's Note:**

> this is the first fanfiction that I have written since my Glee phase. please cut me a little bit of slack.

The hallway was empty, and Jim sighed a breath of relief. It was almost 1:00 AM, which was the end of his grueling shift. Usually at the beginning of his work day scientists would be bustling through corridors, bumping into him as he tried to stay out of trouble.

He bent to retie his boot, and at the same time he noted that the wheel of the mop bucket was looking a little loose. Maybe tonight he could fix it; most days were so crazy that he barely had time to empty the trash bins. Between chemical spills and asshole engineers destroying labs, he definitely had his hands full.

Jim Kirk: secret government janitor.

After leaving Iowa, he tried his best to shake his bad luck. After dealing with his terror of a drunken stepdad, Jim really should have learned to keep his mouth shut. But, as his tired mother had always told him, he got his guts from his father.

Jim’s dad was quite the enigma, although he was pretty famous. George Kirk has led a team of astronauts and researches in piloting a space shuttle to the outer reaches of the solar system. While the official documents were classified (no matter how many times Jim had stayed awake all night trying to break down NASA’s firewalls), it was pretty clear what had happened.

“System malfunction” they had told him, “lost radio contact at approximately 0600”. Jim had sat very still next to his mother, stone-faced in her full work clothes. They had been in a debriefing room, with way too many men in suits. Jim was only six, but he knew what those words actually meant. Dead. His dad was dead in space.

So he found himself in the middle of bumfuck nowhere Iowa with an abusive stepfather and a barely-there mom. That combined with his pretty face and take-no-shit attitude meant that Jim had seen quite a few bar fights.

Eventually his mother had been transferred to New Mexico, which Jim obviously hated. The fascination with space and aliens was crazy, especially in all of those towns where more than one crazy hick had seen a light in the sky. Jim tried to ignore it as much as he could, but streets lined with cafes shaped like flying saucers and covered in bogus news reports could make him see red.

After all, space took his father. It gave him a piece of shit stepdad and a cold mother. Fuck space, and if there were such thing as aliens, fuck them, too.

Jim rose and cracked his knuckles. If someone had paid attention to him, they would have laughed their ass off. Here he was, 23 and scrubbing the floors for people who weren’t nearly as smart as him. George Kirk’s son, mopping the classified halls of Area 51.

. . . 

His mother had gotten him the job after he was fired from a coffee shop (in his defense the asshole had found out that his dad was  _ that _ Kirk and Jim had just  _ happened  _ to stumble and spill boiling coffee into the man’s lap). She had told him that this was his last chance or he would go back to Iowa. His stepdad was still there, most likely yelling at some other youths and pissing off the porch like the troglodyte he was. That threat was as much motivation as he needed.

Jim knew that somewhere in the compound, his mother was still at work. She had buried herself in it after his father had died. To this day, Jim didn’t know what his mother did for work. He just knew that she was very important to the government, and that the rest (big surprise) was classified. 

Jim was good at his job, being used to cleaning up after the sloppy mess that was his step father, and that he didn’t give a shit about what was going on inside the base. It was unsurprisingly hard to find anyone willing to mop up bluish liquid which smelled like tuna (but was  _ definitely not tuna _ ) without asking any questions. All he knew was that he would clean up the mess, get paid, go home, and eat an entire pot of instant mac n’ cheese before falling asleep in his work clothes. 

And sure, he had heard some very not-normal noises behind lab doors. And there would be the monthly biohazard drill and the weapons testing and the hangar which was so classified that the only people he had seen enter were the general and his mother. But Jim didn’t care. He didn’t snoop or ask questions or flirt his way into locked doors. As long as he just kept his big mouth closed, he could stay. No Iowa, no stepfather, no memories.

Kirk adjusted his headphones and turned up the volume. It was just about the end of his shift, but he knew he would get some overtime for continuing his work. Dipping the mop into the frothy water, he set forth to clean the seemingly endless hallway. He was fine. Honestly. As long as he pretended that being in a place so close to his own personal hell didn’t make his skin crawl.


	2. Introductions

Most of the other people who worked at Area 51 honestly didn’t know that Jim was a real person. Sure, they would page maintenance, but they didn’t know that maintenance had a name. 

A lot of the younger, cockier scientists gave him shit. While what happened in the top secret military base was exactly that, it still felt like the cruel halls of high school. Once one piece of shit found out the connection between Kirk and his very important mother, it seemed like everyone knew. Everyone.

That’s how he met the general, a middle aged man named C. Pike (the C probably stood for classified, Jim had once joked; Pike didn’t laugh). If this was some twisted high school, Pike would have been the principal who tries to be everyone’s role model. The distinguished man had since given the young man talks about “being the bigger man” and maturity, which Jim somehow suffered through.

Although the fear of his mother kicking his ass loomed over his head, Jim still got into trouble. Getting drunk at bars in town and yelling at people on UFO vacations, occasionally fighting a guy giving him trouble, and all other run of the mill dumb moves.

Kirk gained a reputation, which, although at times as horribly inaccurate, gave him enough wiggle room to turn on his old CD’s and dust mop the chemical ward.

There was obviously something different about today. Jim could tell just by the fact that he had bumped into waves of people in tight black suits with badges around their necks, even as he stepped out of his “office” (big closet) to get some food from the cafeteria.

As he made his way towards the lunch buffet (it was taco Tuesday), he was aware of the influx of officials. They stood close to each other, talking in hushed tones and sometimes taking notes on yellow legal pads.

_ Nerds _ , he thought, fiddling with his phone. He quickly took the turn towards the mess hall, frowning at his phone. For some reason the home screen was glitching out, even though he had just gotten it.

Jim was stopped rather violently by a bulky body. Without even looking up, he knew who it was. Jeff Kinsey was a hot shot straight out of school who obviously had been born with a silver fucking plate in his mouth. He had been the one to make the bridge between Jim and his mother. Kirk kinda fucking  _ hated _ him, coming so far as to take some swings after Kinsey had made a rude comment about the late George Kirk.

Quickly he said excuse me and bustled out of the way, making a beeline for the nearest room. He did  _ not _ want to get into a punching math with some chubby chemist, especially not when something involving a metric shit-ton of feds was going on.

“Hey!” Kinsey called, shouldering his way through people to try and catch up with the blonde who was pretending not to hear him, “ _ hey! _ ”

Jim made more evasive maneuvers, finding himself in one of the calmer halls. Maybe if he just let Kinsey run his mouth it wouldn’t be too bad…

“ _ Hey _ , you little runt,” Kinsey was out of breath but not out of shitty insults, “stop being an asshole and listen to me. I’m your boss.”

Jim opened his mouth to argue, but changed his mind, clenching his jaw. Kinsey wasn’t his boss, but saying something snarky might result in a write-up, which would bring him one step closer to Iowa. As much as he absolutely hated working in Area 51, the main stage for alien conspiracy theories in the United States, it was better than the middle of nowhere.

The man in front of him grinned wickedly, “I have a job for you, Kirk.”

“Oh?” Jim asked, voice dripping with disdain.

Kinsey, who had apparently been on his way back from the mess hall, calmly opened his to-go box and upended a soft-shell taco on Jim’s head.

Usually, Jim would try to remember the fatherly words of Pike. He would breathe and remember the black eyes and split lips of Iowa, and the comforting selection of movies and books he could watch back in his tiny apartment near the UFO museum.

That was what he usually did. However, making eye contact with a smug fuck like Kinsey with salsa making his way down the back of his shirt, he decided that today wasn’t going to go like it usually did.

“Go fuck yourself, Kinsey,” Jim spat, scraping refried bean remnants off his messy hair and slinging it at the laughing man’s shoes.

Kinsey immediately stopped laughing, looking genuinely shocked before it quickly progressed into pure rage. “ _ What _ did you just say to me?”

“I’m sorry,” Jim said with a smirk, “go fuck yourself  _ doctor  _ Kinsey. Can’t forget about the pHD, can we now?”

Jim didn’t get a chance to see the look on Kinsey’s face, as he was suddenly on the ground with a piercing headache.

“You  _ fucker! _ ” Kinsey’s shrill voice sounded in the almost empty hallway, “I’ll kick the shit out of you!”

Jim twisted to look up at his enemy, already feeling his right eye swelling. “You sure? Last time I checked ‘try to kick Jim Kirk’ wasn’t something that your mom condoned.”

Kinsey turned bright red with fury and pulled a leg back, aimed for Jim’s stomach. He squeezed his eyes shut and braced himself for the blow.

“Excuse me.”

Jim hadn’t expected someone to walk by, and especially not to say anything. 

“What do you believe you are doing, doctor?” the deep voice asked from behind Kirk’s prone form.

Above him, Kinsey spluttered some kind of response and Jim could hear very quick footsteps retreating. A muffled announcement was made and he opened his eyes to see a new wave of suits coming out of the woodwork so they could rush off somewhere else.

Slowly Jim sat up, gingerly touching his eye. “Listen, thanks for that, but I’m pretty sure that I can take a hit.”

He stood and turned around to look at his savior, and instantly anything that he was going to say dropped out of his brain entirely.

Standing before him was by far the hottest guy Jim had ever seen in his life. He was wearing shapeless, brown robes with what appeared to be socks. He had severe black bangs and even harsher eyebrows. Immediately after realizing that the guy who had saved him from a kick to the stomach was fine as hell, he realized what was going on behind him.

General Pike was jogging towards them, red in the face and followed by his mother. They looked concerned, and when they reached the two standing men, they huddled close to the mysterious figure who was staring directly into Jim’s eyes.

“Ambassador,” Pike huffed, not looking in Jim’s direction, “I understand that you would like to interact with other intellectuals, but we really should-”

“Do you require any medical attention?” the ambassador asked, his voice smooth and face blank of any concern.

Jim opened his mouth and closed it again like he was a fish out of water. He just stared at the man, trying to gauge who he was.  _ Definitely _ wasn’t CIA, FBI, or anything in between. And was that - were his ears  _ pointy? _

The group stood in silence for many moments as Kirk tried to find something to say. It was only then that the general and his mother looked at him expectantly.

“Well?” his mother asked, her jaw set and mouth tight, “Mr. Kirk, Ambassador Spock is asking you a question.”

He flinched at being called Mr. Kirk by his mother, but was more curious as to what the hell was going on. Ambassador Spock? With a name like that he definitely wasn’t going to be in any way related to the government. Where could that name come from - Russia? Maybe somewhere in Europe? It still didn’t explain the pointed ears, which Jim couldn’t help but stare at. Maybe it was just a trick of the light - 

“James,” general Pike said through gritted teeth, glaring at him.

“Oh, I’m - yes, I mean - no, I’m fine, everything’s good,” Jim replied nervously, looking away from the intense brown gaze of the rigid man in front of him, “thank you, sir, for - well, I was okay but - you didn’t have to -”

Spock bowed his head slightly towards Jim, “it was of no trouble, Mr. Kirk”.

Jim blushed, and immediately didn’t know why he did that. He had talked to so many gorgeous women (and men) before, but suddenly this angular man in pajamas was giving his stomach butterflies.

“We really must get going, Ambassador,” Jim’s mother interjected, her eyes narrowing at her son, “the President will want to be briefed thoroughly.”

“That is a logical desire,” Spock tilted his head minutely to one side, never taking his eyes off Kirk, “it was good to meet you, Mr. Kirk.”

Jim stared with wide eyes, not picking up on the heated glances which Pike and Winona Kirk shared behind Ambassador Spock’s back. They quickly attempted to corral the tall, almost ethereal being towards a conference room, but he seemed to float towards that direction on his own. 

“Nice to meet you, too!” the janitor called lamely after, watching the stranger’s back disappear down a bend in the hall. 


	3. Truthtelling

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just moved into college, but I'm still gonna be writing as much as I can! Thank you for all the kudos and comments and all of the love I have been getting. Keep on trekkin'.

One of the few redeeming features of Area 51 was that there were some pretty interesting people working within the secret halls. Jim mostly got into trouble with these people, but there were some which he was more friendly with.

He sat across from one of them now, who was filling out paperwork while the younger ranted about what he had witnessed in the hallway.

“Bones, man, you should have seen him,” Jim gushed, “he was tall and his hair was so dark. He looked like a porcelain doll in pj’s.”

“Listen,” the disgruntled doctor said, not looking up from his work, “I’m a doctor, not a love guru. If you want to talk about boys, find someone else to have a slumber party with.”

Leonard McCoy was a perpetually tired man from the south, and he had apparently left most of his southern charm down there. He was one of the first people which Jim had not gotten punched by when he first got to New Mexico. Getting shown the ropes by a veteran of the spooky bullshit going on was nice, as McCoy seemed to have the same distrust of aliens.

“Listen kid, just pretend it’s a hospital. A very weird hospital which nobody else knows about,” he had told him, navigating the identical hallways with practiced ease, “oh, and drink. Vodka, lots of it. Helps you to forget you’re in an X-Files fan’s wet dream.”

Jim had nodded along, smirking at Leonards similar attitude towards the military base. He worked in the medical lab, which mostly dealt with samples and patching someone up after something blew up in the lab (it happened more times than you would think). After lots of drinking and lots of crying, Leonard had finally confided in Jim that he was divorced, and was only working the job at Area 51 so he could save up the money to visit his daughter. After that, Jim knew that he was just like him: hard on the outside, and full of soft, emotionally unstable nougat on the inside. 

They had since become good friends, which meant getting drunk after long shifts, cracking jokes about some of the ridiculous safety memos, and frequently bickering about trivial matters, mostly when one of them was just trying to do some work.

“Leonard, this dude had was seriously weird. I don’t know where he came from - he was wearing like, bedsheets. It’s the middle of summer and it’s hot as hell and he’s bundled up? What’s his deal anyway? Did the Russians send him? He has too much hair to be a monk but sure acts like one.”

Bones nodded along while filling out forms, obviously not listening in.

Kirk continued, “but the thing is, it’s the ears. The ears and the eyebrows. I mean, maybe it’s just like, a mutation and he just  _ happened  _ to be born with pointy ears, but I feel like -”

“Whoa,” Leonard was paying full attention now, the files in front of him closed, “Jim, what was that?”

“Ears. They’re kinda pointy, you know, like an elf.”

The older man looked to his lap and frowned. Jim could tell that he was racking his brain to find an explanation, because all of those years at med school left not much to the unknown. He patiently waited while his friend went through his mental catalogue of causes.

“Jim,” he said slowly, “I think this ‘Spock’... he’s an alien.”

Kirk couldn’t help but laugh. As he guffawed at the notion, he realized that it was probably the hardest he had ever laughed since he was a child. Sure, he would chuckle whenever Leonard went on rants about dumb lab techs who would mix up a chemical compound and a drink in a beaker-shaped mug. But  _ aliens _ ? 

“Leonard, I swear to god, you are the funniest guy I have ever met in my life.”

“I’m not kidding, Jim.” McCoy muttered, opening another file and continuing what was probably very unimportant work as if it were important.

Jim wiped a tear from his eye, “sure, Bones. An alien from outer space just decides that he’s gonna come to the middle of nowhere New Mexico and talk to my mom about his pajamas and cute face. Not to mention that he knows English and stops me from getting kicked. Yeah right, Spock’s an alien.”

. . .

“He’s an alien.”

“Wait a fucking minute,” Jim spluttered, looking at his mom in pure horror and confusion, “but like, he’s an alien in an illegal immigrant kind of way, right? Like he was smuggled in from Germany?”

Winona interlaced her fingers in front of her on the desk. She looked tired and stressed, her neat bun beginning to fall apart around the edges. The office was large and covered in awards not only for her, but for her late husband as well. Jim had always hated staying there as a child, because it always smelled like coffee and reminded him of a missing piece of his life.

His mother had called him in, saying something about “being sensitive and respectful”. He had assumed that he had done something wrong in his brief meeting with the Ambassador, and that he had gotten all pissy and offended. But instead, she was sitting across from him spouting nonsense about aliens.

“No, Jim,” he said with a sigh, “he’s an alien. From space. He came here to talk to us.”

“There’s no way. Like no way. There’s no such thing as aliens.”

She raised an eyebrow at him, and Jim knew that she was telling the truth. It hit him like a freight train. 

_ Nobody fucking told me _ , he thought, before remembering that Leonard had tried to convince him of the fact earlier.  _ Well, nobody specifically told me that aliens existed _ .

His second reaction was anger. Not only did he have to work at this hellish fucking military base, but now the reputation was true? Every UFO sighting and shrapnel shard for sale on eBay and bullshit news story wasn’t just junk. And worst of all, his father died in space. With aliens. Fuck.

“Now,” Winona said calmly, moving to rise from her chair, “don’t get emotional about it, because this is a matter of national security and it should be treated as such.”

Jim opened his mouth, angry and ready to chew his mother out for not telling him this. Her own son, working in the same building, and keeping something so big and so integrated into his life from her. He wanted to quit on the spot, but the image of Iowa was still fresh in his mind.

“Mr. Spock is a very important man, and he is here to do a very important job. I know that you have already met him, but if you could keep your distance during this process that would be good. Now if you’ll excuse me,” she stood and straightened her suit jacket, “I have a meeting to attend.”

Quietly she left the room, and Jim sat there in silence. He was perfectly prepared to sit in his mother’s vacant office and stew, but he knew he needed to leave. Staring at pictures of his dead dad was hard enough, especially after that nugget of truth was revealed.

Besides, he had an alien to talk to.


	4. Prejudice

Finding Spock was harder than Jim had previously thought. Unlike him, it seemed like the other employees in the complex were more tight-lipped about such things as important as an alien ambassador.

Jim called in every favor which he could manage, which concluded with going back to the medical center and talking with Bones.

“I can’t tell you where he’s staying, Jim,” the doctor said distractedly, staring at a tablet and moving quickly around the center, “although I  _ can _ tell you that he’s in perfect physical health. Weird as hell anatomy, but he’s in great shape.”

The train of thought which was going through Jim’s head screeched to a halt. “Great shape?” he asked quietly to himself.

“Yes, great shape. Man’s build like a Greek god and spouts poetry like he’s Bill Shakespeare. I’m talking six pack and sonnets. He also has a fourteen nipples.”

That snapped the younger man right out of his day dreams, “wait,  _ how  _ many nipples?”

McCoy groaned in frustration, “ _ two of them _ , you moron. Now help me with this inventory project or get the hell out.”

“But  _ Bones _ ,” Jim whined, “I just wanna talk to him.”

“I think we both know what your version of ‘talking’ entails,” Leonard mumbled, and Jim pretended not to hear it.

Jim’s face went serious, and he placed a hand on his friend’s shoulder, “please, Leonard. He’s from space. He might know something about my dad.”

The doctor sighed deeply, stopping in his tracks in the constantly bustling medical center. Jim waited with baited breath as he could see his friend working through the pros and cons. He had once told him about the pros and cons list on one drunken night, so he understood the process. 

“Whatever, kid. It’s your ass on the chopping block, not mine,” his friend concluded, “he’s probably in the executive suite near your mom’s office.”

Kirk’s face lit up, “thanks, Bones! I can always count on you!”

As his friend was leaving, Leonard called after him, “speaking of your mother, send me a picture of the pile of ash she leaves once she bursts into flames. I want to put it on your gravestone next to ‘I told you so’!”

It wasn’t until Jim got to the door of Spock’s suite that he realized he hadn’t prepared anything to say. Logically, he knew that he shouldn’t just kick down the door and start accusing him of things, but the son of George Kirk was never known for being logical. 

However, he did knock, knowing that this alien could be supremely dangerous. When he still liked the idea of flying saucers and little green men when he was a child, he had always loved the ones which could control things with their mind and shoot laser rays from their eyes. Jim silently hoped that Spock could do neither of those things.

“Enter,” a calm voice said from behind the door.

Jim let out a breath that he didn’t know he was holding in and opened the door.

Spock was seated on a very tidy queen sized bed, his legs crossed and nose in a book. Jim marveled at the man for a moment, realizing that he had never seen something sit up so straight and yet look so at ease. He was wearing the same clothes as he had been earlier that morning, although the socks were off. Slowly, Spock rose his head and looked at Jim expectantly.

“Um,” Jim began, his voice cracking. After clearing his throat, all the while making eye contact with the alien in front of him, he continued, “I heard you’re an alien.”

One of Spock’s linear eyebrows raised, but there was no other expression of emotion. Jim instantly became nervous, thinking back to the lasers out of the eyes hypothesis. Staring into the man’s brown eyes, he genuinely believed it could happen.

“As I am from a planet other than Earth, then I am classified as an ‘alien’ by human standards,” Spock slowly closed his book, “although you did not seem to be as concerned with this fact upon our first meeting.”

Jim shrugged, feet planted in place, “I didn’t know. You were just some guy who stopped me from getting the shit kicked out of me.”

The alien’s head tilted to one side minutely, “tell me, Mr. Kirk, does that happen often?”

“Uh, I mean, I guess so. Happens a lot when people don’t like you.”

Spock contemplated this for a moment, before nodding to a small couch towards the foot of the bed. “Please, take a seat.”

Jim did, although he kept his eyes on the other man the entire time. This Spock guy seemed to be great at maintaining fierce eye contact, so Kirk was indulging him. He wasn’t going to back down, especially after knowing that this strange man was from space.

They sat in silence for a while, and eventually Jim looked down at the book which was still in Spock’s hand. It was a relatively battered copy of  _ Pride and Prejudice _ , full of dog ears and tiny notes written in neat, loopy handwriting. Jim furrowed his brow and was opening his mouth to ask when he was cut off by the stoic man in front of him speaking.

“Does that kind of act happen to you often?”

Jim blinked up at him, “what do you mean?”

Spock shifted, and if Jim didn’t know any better he’d think that the man was uncomfortable, “a… physical act of violence against your person due to a dislike of you as a being.”

The blonde frowned, trying to decipher exactly what the alien was asking him. “I mean, I guess so. Lots of times people will find out who my parents are and… just give me shit for it.”

“I also struggle with this,” the alien nodded solemnly, “while they do not gift me with excrement, I am often insulted due to my unusual heritage.”

Before Jim could stop himself, he asked, “what heritage?”

Now it was Spock’s turn to look down, back at the book which he was grasping. Jim noticed that he was holding it so tightly that his knuckles were becoming white.

“My mother is human,” he whispered, “I am only half Vulcan.”

“Okay, what? How does that - but she’s from -  _ Vulcan _ ?”

Spock instantly straightened, back to his rigid form devoid of emotions, “I was born on the planet Vulcan to a human mother and a Vulcan father. While my mother has never told me the exact story of her arrival to Vulcan, I have come to find that she journeyed on a research shuttle to our planet and due to technical difficulties, crashed. She was the only to survive.”

“Oh,” Jim said, and then, after realizing that ‘oh’ was a dumb thing to say after hearing something like that, repeated, “ _ oh _ .”

The man on the bed opened the book again, staring at the pages. “This book belongs to my mother. She gave it to me so that I would find comfort from her, even across space on a different planet. My mother has been insulted, ridiculed, dismissed, and ignored for her alien heritage, as have I. Yet she continues, most illogically, to do what she does for my family.”

“Spock,” the human said, realizing that it was the first time he had ever said the alien’s name aloud. It rolled off his tongue, like his name or his childhood phone number. He shuddered, feeling a certain contradictory familiarity, and instead looked at the man in front of him.

Spock was staring at the book, his thumb running over one of the notes in the corner of a page. It had been written in ballpoint pen, the weathered pages bending under the weight of the words. A small heart was drawn underneath the musings.

Jim reached out, trying to comfort the hurt alien, and not feeling anywhere confident enough to go in for a hug. He brushed his fingers against Spock’s, which clutched the old book strongly.

It was as if Jim had burned the man with an ember. He ripped his hand away, tossing the book, which landed face-down on the floor. Kirk looked up and saw the unmistakable expression of fear and confusion written across the Vulcan’s face. Beyond that, he realized that his pointy ears and full cheeks were quickly turning a greenish color, which took Jim by surprise. While everything else besides the ears looked perfectly human, it reminded him that he  _ was _ having a conversation with the real-world equivalent of a little green man.

There was a knock on the door, but the person on the other side seemed to not have any time to wait for a response. They barged in, and Kirk’s head quickly found out that it was his mother.

“Jim!” she hissed, before looking at the position that the two were in. She straightened out her creased slacks and cleared her throat to begin again, “Mr. Kirk, if you would excuse us, Ambassador Spock is needed in the conference room. It is a matter of utmost importance.”

Spock caught on, and also righted himself. He curtly nodded at Jim, his face still bright green, and exited the room.

Jim stood in the empty suite, staring at his fingers. Had he hurt him? Was he not supposed to touch these aliens? He had come here for answers but he seemed to just have more questions, all of which sounding a lot like ‘what the fuck just happened?’.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> accidental Vulcan kisses are the best kind of Vulcan kisses


	5. Pastabilities

Jim didn’t see Spock for the rest of the day and most of the next. While the alien was still in the forefront of his mind, someone dropped a plate of spaghetti in the cafeteria and Jim couldn’t actually say no to cleaning it up. It was, after all, his job.

He replayed the scenario in Spock’s quarters over and over, trying to find what he did wrong. Maybe it was anatomy related. Jim mopped over the marinara and shuddered at the thought of Spock’s hands being an entirely different body part than what they appeared as. But no - Spock had said he was half human, so it was probably just something that he did to offend him.

Kirk had dealt with people disliking him since he was old enough to understand the concept. Whether it was for his family, his actions, or anything in between, he’s felt it. Once his mother married his stepfather, things got even worse; insults turned into fists, fists turned into boots. It somehow got worse when he went to high school, because of course, being Jim Kirk, he found something else to be hated for.

His first boyfriend’s name was Zach. He was in Jim’s first period English class and he actually did the reading, which meant that Jim was in a constant state of asking him for homework. Eventually Zach realized that the blonde wasn’t an idiot, and would stay after school with him to work on essays and reading notes. Jim wasn’t quite sure how it happened, but the results of his relationship with Zach were burned into his mind forever.

Lost in thought, he mopped, staring at the plain grey floor under his feet. He wondered what Zach was up to these days, and if he would even remember him.

“Excuse me,” a familiarly formal voice said behind him.

Jim jumped, not expecting anyone to be near him. Spock was a relatively silent mover, and on top of that, Jim was distracted. He turned to look at the alien behind him.

Spock was standing as straight as ever, hands clasped behind his back. It looked like he was wearing a different color of robe, this one darker and less baggy. He was wearing socks again, these ones decorated with neutral stripes and big, chunky stitches.

“Spock,” Jim exclaimed, placing his mop back in the bucket, “how have you been?”

“Adequate,” he replied immediately.

Jim blinked, waiting for Spock to continue. He didn’t. The two stared at each other for an uncomfortably long amount of time, Jim finally having to break eye contact due to the fact that he couldn’t look at the alien without blushing. He passively wondered if Spock knew how attractive he was. When he had the courage to look back up, Spock was still staring at him intently.

He shifted from one foot to another, “so, I should probably-”

“My... apologies,” the taller man finally began, “I have come to ask if you would enjoy a game of chess this evening. I have only ever played one human, and as she is my mother, I’m afraid she often lets me win.”

That was definitely not what Jim was expecting. Actually, Jim had no idea what he expected in the first place.

“Yes,” he blurted out before he could think, but then immediately realized that his shift was going to be long, “oh, no, wait... I don’t get off of my shift until one in the morning, and I guess that’s too late...”

Spock bowed his head slightly, “One AM is satisfactory. Vulcans do not require much sleep, only a quiet space in which to meditate.”

“Oh. Well, okay. I guess I’ll meet you at your quarters at about 1:15?”

The alien bowed his head deeper this time, “I will expect you then, Mr. Kirk.”

Jim watched as Spock passed by him, headed towards one of the many hangars. Just as he was about to turn a corner, Jim shouted, “my name is Jim!”

At first he didn’t think that Spock had heard him, but as the alien turned he locked eyes with Jim and nodded. Jim was probably just seeing things, but he could almost see a smile begin on Spock’s face.

. . .       

“You’re doing _what_ with the alien?”

Jim rolled his eyes as he rested his feet on McCoy’s desk, “c’mon, Leonard, we’re just going to play some chess-”

Leonard glared at him from his desk chair, pen in hand, “Jim, from what you’ve told me, I know exactly what kind of chess you guys are going to be playing.”

While Kirk resented the comment, he still blushed thinking about it, “Bones, I’m not-”

“I swear to god Jim if you have sex with that alien it’s going to be a PR nightmare. Your mother will personally kick your sorry ass, not to mention the fact that you would be fired. No, more than that, you’re going to be rocketed into space. Millions of years from now they’ll find your body floating in the atmosphere with ‘don’t sleep with strange alien men’ written on your forehead.”

“Jesus, Leonard,” Jim swung his feet off the desk, “it’s like you don’t even trust me. I’m not going to...” he looked around nervously before lowering his voice, “ _have sex with him_. I accidentally touched his hand and he flew across the room.”

Bones’ face softened, and he leaned forwards, “look, Jim, it’s not that I don’t trust you. I just don’t want anything bad to happen to you. And this Spock fella seems like a nice enough guy, but he’s from fucking _space_.”

Jim shrugged it off, knowing that McCoy just wanted the best for him. And he couldn’t disagree - some unknown alien came to Earth not two days ago. Just because the alien happened to have big, brown eyes and the poutiest expressionless face Jim had ever seen didn’t mean he was trustworthy.

“Just have fun at your chess date,” Leonard sighed, putting his face in his hands. Jim began to argue with him, but his friend cut him off by telling him to call him when he got there.

. . .

True to his word, Jim knocked on Spock’s door at 1:15. He straightened out his hair and flattened his t-shirt against his chest. He was hoping that this time he would make a good impression, because the first couple of times definitely weren’t.

Spock opened the door, looking as calm and collected as he usually did. Jim was immediately struck by the fact that he wasn’t wearing his usual attire; the alien was in a sweater and a pair of slacks. He was aware that the Vulcan was trying to say something to him, but he was mystified by seeing Spock without his normal shapeless robes.

“Mr. Kirk,” the man in front of him said loudly, aiming to get his attention.

Jim shook himself out of his gaze, looking up at Spock’s face. An eyebrow was elevated, and his head was tilted to one side in confusion.

“You’re wearing pants.”

“An astute observation,” Spock replied, stepping aside to let Jim enter the room.

Kirk scoffed, “Mr. Spock, did you just _sass_ me?”

The alien closed the door behind them and watched Jim not know where to sit. He tried to maintain composed as he settled on a chair near the desk.

“I do not know what you are talking about, Mr. Kirk.”

“It’s Jim,” the blonde shot back, stretching in the spinning chair. He watched as Spock returned to what seemed to be his resting position of sitting cross-legged on the end of his bed.

Spock settled himself, “very well…Jim.”

God, how Jim loved how his name sounded. Usually he hated it, with it almost constantly being attached to something vile and rude. He was _that_ Jim, the bad one, the one always getting into fights and disappointing his mother and dead father. But this was the first time someone had said his name and it just sounded like it fit.

Spock seemed to ponder the name, furrowing his sharp eyebrows and looking into his lap. “Jim,” he repeated again quietly, saying it more slowly. Jim blushed.

“So, chess?”

His counterpart looked up, his face not betraying anything that he could have been thinking at the time.

“Indeed. Chess.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this is so late and short - just wanted to get something posted. more to follow of course


	6. Chess Date

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry about the wait! I had a bad experience with romance so it was kind of hard to write about two folks in love. back on a roll, though!

“How did you know that whiskey was my favorite?”

Spock reached forward to move a chess piece, “I had no way of knowing. I simply made a logical assumption.”

Jim scoffed, nursing the drink in his hand, “you guessed. You made a lucky guess. Why did you even get whiskey in the first place? You’re not drinking.”

“Vulcans do not experience intoxication from alcohol.”

The man looked down at the crystal glass in his palm. “Oh. So you really did this for me, huh?”

“Affirmative.”

Jim blushed. Nobody has ever done something like this for him, and while he felt a bit guilty that Spock had gone through this much trouble just to make him more comfortable, he was loving it. 

Spock was still staring at the chessboard, thinking through his next moves. Jim stretched to get his queen and made a move without thinking too much about it. There had to be  _ something _ which Spock would like. He eyed the counter of Spock’s quarters, which were covered in comfort food; cookies, pie, chocolate, and most importantly, alcohol. Jim offhandedly wondered where he got all of the food.

“Have you even tried this stuff?” he muttered, putting his almost empty cup of whiskey down on the table in front of him.

The alien looked up, his eyebrows slightly furrowed, “I have not. I have no need to sample Earth cuisine.”

Jim scoffed, “come  _ on _ , Spock. You’re supposed to be an ambassador, right? How can you ambass us if you don’t even know what our food tastes like?”

“That is not a word in the English language-”

“Eat this,” Kirk insisted, reaching forward to grab a bar of milk chocolate, “it’s good, I promise. And if you don’t like it, I won’t make you eat anything else.”

Spock eyed the chocolate, and looked up at Jim. Suddenly the blonde was extremely aware of how brown his eyes were, putting the Hershey’s infront of him to shame. While the alien didn’t seem to outwardly show emotion, Jim thought he could see a world of feelings in the earthy tones of his irises.

Tentatively, Spock reached forward, taking the other end of the chocolate bar. Jim was snapped out of his pining, shaking his head and chuckling to himself. He remembered what Leonard had said, and straightened his back. There was no reason for him to feel uncomfortable around Spock - for all he knew, the idea of being gay wasn’t even in existence wherever Spock was from. Just because the guy looked at him didn’t mean that he was in love with him.

He turned his eyes to the man in question, who was cautiously taking tiny bites of chocolate. It wasn’t that Spock looked at him, it was that he  _ saw _ him, and as somebody other than the janitor or the troublemaker or the son of the dead astronaut. 

Jim cleared his throat, “so, how’s the chocolate? I see you’re not dead yet.”

“It is,” Spock’s eyebrows furrowed, “pleasant. It is unlike anything I have ever tasted on Vulcan.”

“Good! Vulcan food sounds boring anyway. Everybody likes chocolate.” he leaned back, stretching to reach for the bottle of whiskey. He slowly refilled his glass, staring at the chess board. He took a drink, pushed his king forward with one finger, and looked up at Spock with a smirk.

“Checkmate.”

.        .        .

“So did you come here on like, a flying saucer? Like those dumb frisbee things with the little green guys?”

“That,” Spock replied, pausing to chew the remainder of his chocolate, “is a harmful stereotype. My mother told me of this preposterous idea that all aliens are small, green, and are in some way related to a saucer.”

Jim laughed openly, “wow, sorry. Although you do seem kind of green.”

Spock turned a slightly brighter color, something which Jim had prided himself in. He had never see someone blush so much in his life, if that’s what the alien was doing.

“But really, how did you get here?”

“I will not answer any of your questions if I cannot ask ones in turn.” Spock muttered, folding his hands in front of his face and looking at the chessboard. Jim had won a second time, which had obviously bothered the Vulcan, but he didn’t say anything.

Jim scoffed, “fine. Question for question. I ask you something, you ask me something. Everybody wins.”

Spock took one of Jim’s pawns. “I accept. I will begin.”

Kirk laughed again, this time to himself. He had expected Spock to be somewhat uncomfortable around him, especially after the hand-touching event. But here he was, onto the third game of chess, and Spock was getting… well, human. The subtle sass wasn’t very subtle anymore, and anything that Jim said was followed by another shade of green.

“Lay it on me, Spock. What do you want to know?” he kicked his feet up onto the coffee table, “I’ve got nothing to hide.”

“Why are you a janitor?”

Jim’s smile wavered, “what do you mean?”

Spock looked up at him, the brown eyes meeting blue, “you are incredibly smart, Jim. I’ve read reports on you - you were set up to go to an amazing university, to be the top of your class, but instead…” he frowned, “you’re here. Getting into fights with people who should be your subordinates.”

“Okay, well they’re not,” Jim snapped, “and smarts don’t matter if you’ve got a bad attitude. Being a janitor is good for me.”

Spock opened his mouth to rebuke, but Jim cut in, “that’s your one question. Now it’s my turn. What’s your home like?”

“Vulcan? It’s…” Spock stared at the chessboard again, avoiding eye contact with the man across from him, “warmer. Warmer and drier. My home looked over a vast expanse of desert, all red. It was… beautiful,” a small smile crept onto the alien’s face, “mother is probably looking at that view, worrying. She worries. So does father, but he would never say. It is the Vulcan way to not express emotions.” 

“Oh,” Jim said quietly, eyes locked on Spock.

The man in front of him looked up and smiled.

Jim thought that he knew what the word beautiful meant. He thought that it was a colorful sunset, or the first flower of spring, or even his bed at the end of a long shift. Teachers had defined the word, and dictionaries had tried to put it into similar terms. All of the synonyms that Jim could think of were null, because the definition was different now. It was the dark brown eyes, and the straight across bangs, and the smile on the man in front of him. It was  _ Spock.  _ He was the most brilliant and beautiful thing that he had ever seen in his life.

If Jim was outwardly expressing any of this, Spock was not showing any response. He smiled dopily, something which Jim never could have imagined up until this point, and looked down at the chocolate which was still in his hand. Jim was bright red, and the green dusting the top of Spock’s ears wasn’t helping.

“What is in this?” Spock asked, looking at the candy bar in wonder. 

Kirk reached forward to grab an empty wrapper. “Mostly just cocoa and sugar. Not too much to it, really. You’ve really never had chocolate before?”

Spock shook his head. Jim decided that it was time to swallow his pride with another swig of whiskey and just go for it.

“Okay, that was your question. Now here’s mine: why did you fly halfway across the room when I touched your hand a few days ago?”

Jim didn’t think a human being could look so green in their life, before remembering that Spock wasn’t entirely human. 

“My…” the alien looked uncomfortable and embarrassed, “apologies. Touching hands in that manner is meant to express affection on my planet.”

“Touching hands?”

Spock nodded, staring at his own hands, “Vulcans are touch telepaths. Touching is very intimate.”

“Oh my god,” Jim put down his glass violently, “I totally Vulcan kissed you, didn’t I?”

“Well…”

Jim put his head in his hands, “no, I totally Vulcan kissed you. Holy shit, Spock, I am so sorry. I didn’t know something like that could mean something like…  _ that. _ Jesus christ…”

Spock was silent. Jim didn’t want to make eye contact with him, because he knew that he would break blood vessels on his face from blushing so hard if he did.

“Just, like hand touching? Like this?” Jim clumsily tried to recreate what has happened that night, mushing his hands together.

“No,” the alien said softly, reaching across the abandoned chess game, “like this.”

Jim stayed perfectly still as Spock moved each one of his fingers, putting them in the appropriate place. He allowed the alien to gently mold his hand so that his first two fingers were outstretched. Jim chanced a look at the man across from him.

He was gorgeous, which was nothing new. But he was focused on their hands, his cheeks a deep green which reached his ears and crept down his neck. Jim smiled.

Spock took a breath in and leaned back a bit. “There.”

“Oh. It’s like a peace sign.”

“Yes, but…” Jim could hear Spock’s breath as he tilted towards him, “with a different effect.”

The alien brushed his fingertips lightly along Jim’s, and suddenly touching hands was the best thing that Jim could think of. A radiant heat spread out along his arm, and he couldn’t tell if it was just him blushing or if it was something more than that. Spock was staring at him, and when JIm looked up, the Vulcan’s brown eyes were wide and his mouth was open.

Jim couldn’t resist. A flash of doubt came over his mind, but he quickly pushed that away as he surged forward to press his lips against Spock’s.

The idea that a first kiss with someone is like fireworks and sparks was stupid, and Jim Kirk knew this. But he also knew that kissing the alien in front of him was like nothing he had ever felt before. Their lips were perfect for each other, and after a moment of caution on both ends, Spock kissed back. Maybe it wasn’t fireworks, but it was some other kind of explosive.

He realised what he was doing and pulled away for a moment. “Are you sure you-” he began, but was cut off by Spock following his lips and locking them again.

Jim had really liked Zach, but obviously his homophobic stepfather had not enjoyed the idea of his stepson hanging out with him. Eventually Jim got sick and tired of having to hide and cower, and just told him that they were dating. The next day, Jim was covered in bruises, but he held his boyfriend’s hand walking down the halls. Until the moment he was experiencing, sharing a kiss with a man from another planet, it was the most liberated he had ever felt in his life.

The human pulled back again, because his brain couldn’t quite comprehend what was going on.

“I mean,  _ me _ ? I’m just not-”

Spock growled, which was something Jim wasn’t expecting. He also wasn’t expecting the alien to grab the back of his neck and leave a trail of bites across his jaw and down his neck.

Jim didn’t think anymore.

His phone beeped.

The man attached to his neck (boyfriend? Lover? Hot alien?) started to give Jim a hickey, and he ignored the chirping device.

Another beep.

Jim made an unholy noise as he mussed up Spock’s hair.

This time, it was a ring. A very specific ring, which was meant for a specific person.

Jim begrudgingly pulled away from Spock and reached for the phone. The alien sat back, his face entirely green, lips vaguely swollen. Jim wished that he could keep kissing him, but the fact that his mother was calling him meant that something was very seriously wrong.

“Hello?” Jim asked after picking up, suddenly aware of how hoarse his voice was.

“Jim,” his mother said in a stern voice, “I’ve been… thinking about your position in this base. I think that we should discuss your position moving forward.”

Jim looked up at Spock, who was straightening out his sweater. “I’m kind of… busy right now.”

Winona sighed through the phone, “Jim, this isn’t something which can wait. I’ll be expecting you in my office at 0500.”

He was about to protest, but his mother hung up. He looked at the clock, which told him that it was already well into the morning, and it was approaching 5:00 am at a distressing rate.

“I… I mean, I gotta… my mom…” Jim began lamely, not knowing what to say to the man sitting across from him. 

“Understood.” Spock said curtly, standing up, “I will… see you later today.”

Jim also stood, because he didn’t really know what else to do, “oh. Um, okay. Sounds good.”

Spock stared at him while he grabbed his jacket and headed for the door, waving dumbly before leaving.

He pressed his back against the wall next to the door.  _ What the fuck just happened _ ?


	7. Proposal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the late chapter! i've had it half done for weeks and just now powered through it. enjoy!

Jim had never changed clothing so fast in his life. Actually, he’d never moved this fast in his life, except for the times when he knows he’s going to get the shit kicked out of him. In an odd way this is what’s happening now, with his mother’s words fresh in his head.

There were other things fresh in his head, too, like the taste of Spock’s mouth. It was sweet like the chocolate he had been eating, contrasting the bitter sting of alcohol still caged by Jim’s lips. He felt hot in the face just thinking about it as he pulled off his old shirt and stepped to his bathroom to brush his teeth.

He turned a different color as he looked at his reflection in the mirror. His neck was red, more red than the rest of him, and splotchy. Jim turned to see it from another angle and realized that Spock had given him a fleet of hickeys. A particularly big one on his collarbone was beginning to turn purple.

Jim knew that he had absolutely no time to deal with this situation. He blushed like a schoolgirl and frantically scrubbed his teeth. He quickly threw on a flannel which was lying crumpled on his bed, popping the collar to hide the marks blossoming on his skin.

He maked it to his mother’s office at 5:03, still tucking in his undershirt as he thumped into the executive office. The lights were dim and the set of crystal glasses were out on the table, next to a bottle of very expensive vodka. He never realized how snazzy the place was, mostly because he was focused on the terrifying woman behind the desk.

She was in her high-backed chair facing the window, watching as the darkness began to recede. Jim was instantly reminded of a Bond villain, before remembering that it was his  _ mother _ and that he shouldn’t be afraid of her.

“Jim,” Winona said, startling him, “you’re late.”

“Yeah well,” he flattened out his hair the best he could, “you didn’t give me a lot of time to get over here.”

She turned to face him, her tired eyes scanning him before settling on his face. He expected his mother to scold him, but she stared at him lovingly before sighing.

“Jim, I know you’re better than a janitor.”

Kirk almost fell over, “wait,  _ what _ ? You call me in the middle of the night so we can talk about my fucking  _ job _ ?”

“Language,” Winona said almost absentmindedly, “and sit down.”

Jim did, startled that his mom even gave half a shit about his job at the compound. He always imagined that as long as he stayed out of trouble (which at this point was never) that she would be fine with him (she never was) going about his business.

“Sorry for interrupting your…  _ fun _ ,” she took a sip from her steaming mug, “who’s the lucky lady?”

Jim froze and turned deep red. She had seen the hickeys which he had tried so hastily to hide. If he wasn’t fucked over yet, he was now. Not only that, but his  _ mother _ had just asked about his  _ sex life _ . He already didn’t talk with his mother enough, and now here she was sitting across a table from him and practical asking what his favorite positions were.

Probably recognizing the horror dawning on her son’s face, Winona cleared her throat and mercifully changed the subject.

“It has come to my attention that your skillset is too high to work as this base’s janitorial staff,” she organized some papers on her desk, “I always knew this, but, being your mother, you could see how my opinion would be biased.”

Jim had to bite back a scoff. As far as he was concerned, his mother was the most powerful bitch he had ever known in his life. Sure, she was still his mother, and of course he still loved her, but she had always prioritized work after what happened to his father.

Her desk chair squeaked, and he looked back up at her. “It wasn’t until a… certain individual made it clear to me that my views were shared that I decided it was time to act.”

“Who…?” Jim began to ask the question, but Winona raised her hand to cut him off.

“I’ve always known that you are a very smart boy, James. And I have tried to keep you away from this whole space thing after what happened with George. But I feel like it’s now in everyone’s best interest to let you take a more suitable place in this base.”

Kirk’s face cracked into a grin as he leaned back in his chair. “You’re giving me a raise?”

“I’m considering it,” she took another sip of coffee, “but first, you have to prove to me that you’re going to be responsible for your actions.”

“Wait, what?” the blonde leaned forward and all but glared at his superior, “ _ ‘Responsible for my actions _ ’? What kind of bullshit is that?”

“Language,” she quietly reminded him.

“Fuck language,” Jim raised his voice, “I’ll have you know, I am completely responsible. I can’t believe that  _ you _ of  _ all people _ would think that  _ I _ , your  _ only son _ , is  _ irresponsible _ -”

There was a knock at the door. Winona, who had been silently staring at her son as he tried to defend himself, called for whoever was at the door to enter. Jim was seething, staring at his balled up fists on the arms of the chair. The person entered the room quietly and shut the door behind them.

“Mom, I-”

“Ambassador,” Winona stood, directing the Vulcan to the chair next to Jim’s, “thank you for joining us. Please take a seat.”

Jim was suddenly more awake than he had ever been in his life.

He took a moment to reflect on the situation he was currently in. He was a janitor at the most mysterious and heavily guarded military bases in America, and his mother was some kind of chief or head of something. And here he was, sitting in his mother’s office at the asscrack of dawn, next to his newly found boytoy. Who also  _ happened to be a motherfucking alien _ . He almost laughed.

“It was no problem,” Spock replied, his voice calm and collected, “I was already awake.”

Winona froze in place, looking between the two of them. Jim could feel himself beginning to stress sweat, which wasn’t helped by the fact that he was wearing a flannel and that he usually ran a bit warm. She nodded slightly before taking another drink of her coffee.

Jim chanced a look at the man he had previously been kissing. He looked completely fine and dandy, like he had just been meditating or whatever it is Vulcans do at this time of the day. His hair, which Jim remembered looked quite different when he was done with it, was back to its sleek bowl cut. The only evidence of unrest was the chunky knit scarf wrapped around his neck, which seemed to also be somewhat supporting his head. Spock didn’t make eye contact with him, and instead stared intently at a fountain pen on Winona Kirk’s desk.

She cleared her throat, making Jim jump, “Are you feeling particularly cold, Ambassador?”

Spock’s head snapped up to look at the woman in front of him. Jim didn’t know what to do, so he just opened his mouth and closed it again. He wished that the man would at least  _ look _ at him, give him some kind of reassurance that everything was okay.

“The climate of Vulcan is significantly warmer than the temperate nature of Earth,” Spock replied smoothly, “and as I am coming to the end of my stay here, I wished to wear an article of clothing which my mother made for me. A bridge between Earth and Vulcan, in a way.”

Jim was in love.

Winona smiled warmly at the Vulcan and folded her hands on her desk. Jim was vaguely aware of announcements being made around the base as normal morning activities were beginning. Spock was saying something to his mother, but he couldn’t really hear them anymore. He was just staring in absolute awe that somebody like Spock could actually exist, and that the alien would ever spend time with someone like him. He was an  _ ambassador _ , for all he knew a  _ fucking prince _ , and not an hour before this seemingly serious meeting with his mother, the man before him was biting softly on his neck. 

Jim was in fucking  _ love _ .

“Jim,” Winona’s voice broke him out of the dazed state he was in, and he looked to face her. She was looking at him expectantly, and he realized that the mood of the room had changed. Sometime during his state of wonder, everything had gone terse and stiff. Even Spock, who always had perfect posture, seemed to be sitting up straighter than normal.

“Huh?”

“I asked,” she was enunciating too much, meaning that he was in trouble, “about the company which you were entertaining when I called you.”

Immediately Jim looked to Spock, who had finally looked at him. His eyes were wide, portraying the only emotion on his face. Even then, Jim couldn’t tell what it was. The Vulcan’s pupils were huge, but Jim, being still slightly drunk, had no idea what this meant. With his head turned to face him, Jim could see a green patch of skin peeking out from underneath the grey scarf.

“Uh, I mean, nobody you would know,” he stumbled over his words, cursing himself for not sounding convincing enough, “she’s just - they’re just someone I work with.”

“You’re the only person on the janitorial staff,” Winona said through gritted teeth.

Jim didn’t know what to say to that. He took Spock’s earlier lead and made direct eye contact with the gold fountain pen sitting on the large wooden desk.

“So let me get this straight,” she sat back in her chair, “you spent the night with an  _ imaginary  _ janitor, who just happened to give you hickeys the size of golf balls. This either means that you had a fight with your suction cup mirror, she’s a ghost, or, it wasn’t that made-up person at all.”

He had nothing to say to that. He knew that his mom was going to rip him to pieces, because Winona wasn’t stupid. She probably knew what had happened the second Spock stepped through the door, but she decided to play with them. Jim passively wondered if he could still call the Child Protective Services on his mom even though he was in his twenties.

“And here we have Mr. Spock, who is wearing high fashion from Vulcan  _ Vogue _ ,” she turned to the alien, “and who has been a shade of green ever since walking in here.”

The silence in the room was the worst thing that Jim had ever experienced.

“So you’re telling me that you’re responsible, and all the while you’ve  _ seduced  _ an  _ alien ambassador _ ?” she was practically yelling now.

“Mom, it’s not-”

Winona stood up, almost knocking over her coffee cup, “I don’t care! I don’t want to hear it. I can’t believe you, Jim. I can’t believe that you would do this to me.”

Spock opened his mouth, and Winona immediately put a finger up to him. He shut his mouth and she took a deep breath. She took another deep breath.

“I called you in here to offer you a new job,” she leaned over her desk towards her son, “one which would make use of your brain and actually interest you. But the problem is, you do things like this. You’re irresponsible, irrational, immature, and at this point, pretty damn irritating,” she sat back down with a loud whump, “now leave my office.”

“Mom, I-” he began, but he realized that he was already standing up to go. He didn’t want to leave Spock in there to deal with the wrath of his mother, because Spock had the kind of face which looked like it had never been yelled at before. Talked sternly to, sure, but never screaming and insults and anger. He quickly remembered that his mother was human, and that he must catch a lot of shit for it back on his homeworld.

He bowed his head silently and slowly walked to the door. As he reached for the doorknob, he turned to take a look at Spock. He wasn’t looking at Jim. Instead, he was sitting straight up, looking straight ahead. It was like he didn’t even know Jim was there.

Quietly, Jim took the very expensive bottle of vodka from the tray with the crystal glasses. It wasn’t even 6:00am, but he could tell that it was going to be the worst day he’d had in awhile. He silently opened the door and slipped into the darkened hallway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> about Jim being literally the only janitor there: they didn't actually need a janitor all that bad (you know, robots and shit), but Winona is a good mom and had them hire Jim so she could keep an eye on him. She always planned on promoting him.
> 
> also guess who that particular person was who said Jim was super smart ;^)


	8. Departure

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> not only do i not condone the use of alcohol to deal with problems, but i also have never been drunk. so yikes.
> 
> also this one's a long one. you're welcome.

Kirk had immediately realized that he was too guilty to drink the expensive vodka he stole from his mother’s office. He had already upset the woman enough and there was no use salting the wound. Jim had placed the unopened bottle next to the door to remind himself to return it when his mother didn’t want to tear him a new asshole.

He laid on his back in bed, staring up at his blank ceiling. There was something about the situation which was utterly infuriating, but he couldn’t decide on just one part. Was it his mother blaming him for doing something that wasn’t as horrible as it seemed? That his own mom didn’t trust him enough to think that he wasn’t just trying to get laid? Or was it that Spock didn’t even turn around to watch him leave with his tail between his legs.

The last part made his stomach clench unpleasantly. Jim started to think that if the man had any human decency he would have at least looked at the person he had been kissing, but he quickly realized that Spock wasn’t a human. Well, not fully. If he had any half-human decency he wouldn’t be so cold and aloof.

Jim felt like he was having an out of body experience. It was almost seven in the morning and he had already called out of work for the day. If he deserved a day off, today was it. He felt numb, tears pricking at the edges of his eyes. He refused to cry about it, knowing that he was probably overreacting and everything would blow over eventually. It always did.

There was a ding from his phone. Jim was tempted to just turn the damn thing off and avoid all contact with the outside world, human or otherwise. He half expected it to be his mother sending a follow-up letter to properly bitch him out in correct MLA format. He scoffed thinking of the cited sources: “My Stupid Son.” Personal interview. 20 July 2016.

He summoned the energy to reach to his bedside table and check his notification. Surprisingly, it wasn’t from his irate mother, but from the man he had left behind to face the probable wrath of Winona Kirk.

Immediately he sat up, running his fingers through his hair in an attempt to keep it out of his eyes. Why was Spock sending him a message? He was at full attention now.

He read the message. He reread it. He read it like the bible.

* * *

 

 

Dear Mr. Kirk,

I am writing to apologize for what has transpired between us. Between the hours of 1:15AM and 4:00AM on Wednesday, the 20th of July, we engaged in activity which can only be described as unprofessional and improper. As I am sure you are aware, Ms. Kirk has made it very clear that this is nothing new to you, but my lack of experience has led me to decide that a sincere apology is the best course of action.

Between the hours of 2:00AM and 4:30AM, I was under the influence of a chemical that targeted my motor functions in the same way that alcohol may inhibit humans. This chemical was found in the chocolate bar that I consumed, and I had no previous knowledge of its affects on my Vulcan anatomy. In simpler terms, I was “drunk”, and was not thinking rationally during that period of time. I understand that you were also consuming a depressant, which severely inhibited your neurological functions and may very well have impaired judgement.

I am sorry for any misunderstanding and mistakes of judgement on my part, as I was not fully myself during that period of time. Please accept my apology and know that you are a proficient chess partner and I have been honored to be in your company. If I do not see you in person before my departure on Friday, the 22nd of July, I send my warmest regards to your health and wellbeing.

Sincerely,

Spock  
---  
  
 

* * *

He was drunk. He was fucking _drunk_ off chocolate. The alien was off his tits and made out with Jim because he was drunk for the first time in however many years he was alive. Jim’s stomach recoiled, and he was then acutely aware that he hadn’t eaten breakfast.

Spock didn’t want to kiss him. He was drunk. Oh god. If Jim didn’t feel like an asshole before, he definitely felt like one now.

He checked the time. The base would be whirring to life by now, with shifts starting and scientists quietly making their coffees for the day. Jim needed to do something, _anything_ besides lay in bed, although the full sized mattress was calling his name.

Jim swallowed hard and looked at the message again. Spock had called him “Mr. Kirk”, not Jim. Leave it to Spock to emotionally wreck something with perfect grammar in Times New Roman size 12. The worst part about this situation was that absolutely nobody in the world could sympathize with him. For all he knew, he was the first person in Earth’s history to get his heart broken by an alien.

He stood, not too sure where his legs were going to take him. With one look to the bottle of alcohol by the door, he set off for the place he knew he could go for guidance.

. . .

“Now what in the fresh hell are you doing in here?”

Jim was on the floor of Leonard’s office, partly hidden behind his desk. He knew his friend well enough to know where the good liquor was, and how to access it without making a fuss in the medical station.

“‘Snothin”, Jim replied smartly, taking a drink from the cheap vodka bottle, “just cryin’ and shit.”

Bones put his hands on his hips, but his face gave away that he was worried. “I can see that, Jim. Want to tell me why? Because right now all I see is you crying on the carpet drinking vodka like it’s water.”

“Nothin’ happened. Can’t I just see my good friend Len’ in his office?”

He sighed and worked his way to the side of the desk where Jim was, “Now, you say that, but I get the idea that if I called your mother, she would tell me a different story.”

Jim narrowed his eyes at the doctor, “you wouldn’t dare call my mot-” he hiccuped, “-her.”

“Winona and I get along pretty well, actually. We get coffee sometimes.” Leonard crouched in front of his inebriated friend, “now, I’m all for drinking away the pain, but seeing as it’s not even noon, I naturally have some concerns.”

Jim moved to sit up, propping his back against the desk behind him. “Shouldn’t you not wan’ me to drink? You’re like… a doctor.” he blinked, his new upright position allowing him to think more clearly, “wait, you have coffee with my mom?”

McCoy expertly dodged the question and placed a hand on his shoulder, “listen, I won’t condemn a man for trying to deal with his broken heart, which is what I suspect you are sporting. Listen, Jim, why don’t you drink some _actual_ water and tell me what happened.”

Kirk took a deep breath. He didn’t know where to start, and the fact that he was about eight shots into a bottle of vodka wasn’t helping him to formulate his ideas. He looked to his friend, who seemed warm and comforting. Would he understand what had happened? Would he listen to his tale of alien woe?

“Spock didn’t wanna kiss me,” he finally muttered, “he was jus’ drunk.”

“What’s that?”

He noticed that Bones had acquired a water bottle, and he took a long drink of it. The cold water was a cool contrast between his overheating body and fuzzy mind.

He tried again, “Last night, Spock and I did some kissing. But he wasn’t in his right mind. Dude got drunk off chocolate and started laying the moves on me.”

Leonard was silent for a moment, which was new. Usually he couldn’t get his friend to stop talking, especially when it came to giving advice. McCoy usually had more relationship tips than a copy of Cosmopolitan.

Suddenly, the man in front of him laughed.

Jim looked on in astonishment while his best friend was all but screaming in laughter. He had rarely seen him like this, except for rather humiliating games of cards in the early hours of the morning, which were never to be spoken of again.

“What?” Kirk asked, startled.

“You two are such dumbasses,” he managed before cracking up again, wiping tears from his eyes.

Jim frowned, “Bones, what are you-”

“Just,” he breathed, “go get some sleep you goddamned sleep, okay?” Leonard laughed some more.

Jim genuinely had no idea what was going on, and he was starting to panic. What did he mean, both of them were dumbasses? Had he talked to Spock? He really had fucking coffee with his mom?

Before he could ask any kind of comprehensive question about the vague information he had been given, McCoy was standing. Jim allowed himself to be hoisted off the ground, although his head swam as he stood.

Leonard was still chuckling, even as he ushered Jim out the door.

. . .

Not an hour before finding a very drunk Jim under his desk, Leonard McCoy had been treated with the presence of a certain Mr. Spock. The Vulcan had glided into the medical bay and had stared at him as he worked on other patients until the silent alien gained his attention.

“Uh, could I help you, Mr. Spock?”

Spock almost looked surprised that Leonard responded, and already the doctor was formulating ideas on why the alien had wandered into his medical center. _This better not fucking be Jim’s fault_ , he thought as he placed his clipboard down on a nearby work station.

“I certainly hope so, doctor,” the man began coolly, “I have been experiencing some manner of... physical distress.”

Leonard cocked an eyebrow at the stuck-up man, “and may I ask what type of ‘physical distress’ you have been experiencing?”

“I am unsure. I was spending time with Mr. Kirk early this morning,” - McCoy internally rewarded himself for guessing that Jim had something to do with it - “and I began to feel rather inhibited.”

The doctor nodded and made no attempt to conceal the fact that he was checking his watch. Being the primary doctor in a medbay did not leave much time for guessing games.

“My motor functions became inhibited, and my speech was no longer cohesive. I am also afraid that many of my personal restrictions were weakened, as I acted without first considering the consequences.” Spock looked worried for someone who didn’t express emotion on his face.

McCoy blinked at the alien, “you were drunk?”

There was a moment of silence between the two. Spock looked at his feet, his hands tightly clasped behind his back. The doctor noticed that the man was slightly green. He waited expectantly for the alien to continue.

“Yes, it appears that I am describing an inebriated state,” he looked back up, “however, I am unable to become ‘drunk’ through the common human custom of ingesting alcohol.”

“Yeah, so?” Leonard narrowed his eyes at Spock. He could almost hear the ‘but’ which was supposed to follow his statement.

Spock silently sat down in a chair next to the work station. “I did ingest chocolate, which may have affected my system.”

The doctor was skeptical, but he decided to humor the poor man in front of him. He looked distraught, his hands clasped together tightly and his newly donned sweater wrinkled. Usually he would have told him to get the hell out, especially due to the fact that he wasn’t technically wearing shoes, but he decided to do the alien ambassador a favor.

There was a comfortable silence as Bones ran some test, and the results had been so shockingly conclusive that Leonard almost wanted to run them a second time.

“Well I’ll be damned,” he had told Spock, who was trying desperately to read the tablet over his shoulder, “you pointy-eared bastards get drunk off chocolate.

  
“I suspected as much. I shall tell Mr. Kirk at once. We engaged in rather intimate behaviour and he deserves to know of my altered state.”

“Hey, listen,” he put a hand on the man’s shoulder as he tried to get up from the chair, “you might not want to do that.”

Spock’s eyebrows knit together, “why not, doctor? Shouldn’t he know of the state I was in?”

“Of course he should, but, well...” he stopped for a moment to consider the fact that he was about to have a talk about romance with an alien, “did you want to erm, engage in the intimate behaviour?”

He got no answer save a skyrocketing diagonal eyebrow.  
  
He sighed, “no, listen, you hobgoblin, I’m serious. I’m not asking to have a whole middle school slumber party here, I’m just asking. He’s my friend.”

This silence was uncomfortable and both men knew it. Leonard usually never got involved in Jim’s romantic exploits, but seeing as this situation involved a man from outer space, he thought he should step in. Besides, he knew his friend well enough to know that his heart ripped like tissue paper.

“The experience was…” the alien paused, “enjoyable. I have never been romantically involved with another individual, especially not of the human variety. I would be interested to pursue the topic with Mr. Kirk, if he is of the same mindset.”

McCoy crossed his arms, “is that the Vulcan way of saying you got a crush on Jim?”

He could have sworn he saw the edge of Spock’s mouth twitch up, “in your words, doctor, it appears that I do have a crush.”

“Thank god,” the doctor picked up his tablet from the workstation, “tell Jim that you two have my blessing, even if you’re a little green man with no sense of humor.”

He walked away, but Spock followed closely behind him, “but doctor, what do you mean by blessing? Mr. Kirk and I have not engaged in a romantic relationship. I am unsure if our friend will return my developing affections.”

Leonard turned around and Spock had been so close to him that he almost bumped into the doctor. “Listen, Spock, over the last week I’ve been subjected to Jim gushing over you like a high school cheerleader. He’s over the moon for you. You just have to tell him.” he prodded at his tablet, “and for god’s sake man, call him Jim.”

Spock looked determined and gave the doctor a curt nod before excusing himself. McCoy had hoped to god that nothing else would go wrong.

. . .

It was easy to say that Jim woke up with the worst hangover of his life. He had followed Leonard’s advice and gone to bed, although he didn’t quite remember the journey to his quarters. In fact, his entire memory was a bit foggy, save for the piercing image of his best friend laughing his ass off over Jim’s woeful tale.

Jim rolled onto his stomach, pressing his face into the pillows to hide from the harsh light of his room. Why had Bones laughed at him again? He groaned and mashed his head farther into the fluffy comforter.

Something under the pillow rumbled, and for a moment he ignored it. It rumbled again, and that time Jim became aware that it wasn’t something he was making up.

He reached into the depths of his bedspread and pulled out his tablet, which was lighting up with notifications. He marveled at the sight for a moment, wondering when he ever got so popular. It wasn’t a surprise that the first message was from McCoy, marked high importance.

* * *

 

Hey you idiot,

Next time you need to drink your problems away, get your own goddamn liquor. I ain’t your personal mini bar, you know.

Also, drink some cold water. I know you have some because I have given you three fucking Brita filters since I met you. Take some ibuprofen for the headache that I know you have.

You’re welcome.

Bones  
  
---  
  
 

* * *

 

Jim couldn’t help but laugh, noting the caring tone that he could pick out from between all the insults and scolding. He rose from bed and gathered a few Advil and a cup of water (from his favorite of all of his Brita filters, the one which was covered in Leonard’s messy doctor handwriting warning of what can happen when you don’t drink enough water).

He plopped back into his bed, rubbing his head and nursing his drink. Jim swallowed the pills down and moved on to the next message, which was from his mother.

Kirk considered just not opening it and pretending like it didn’t exist, but he knew that eventually his mother was going to track him down. She seemed to be the Area 51 equivalent of Boba Fett, although comparing Pike to Jabba the Hutt wasn’t too nice. He opened the message.

* * *

 

Jim,

I would have called to deliver this information to you, but I received guidance from your friend, Dr. McCoy, that you were in need of rest. Instead, I would like to use this message to offer my sincere apologies for how I talked to you during our last meeting. I had a lovely conversation with Ambassador Spock and I now have a better understanding of what occurred between the two of you.

Please report to my office as soon as you read this. While I am aware that you may be nursing a headache, I will call you at 0900 and make sure you are headed my way. I may be your mother, but I still run a tight ship here.

Love,

Mom  
  
---  
  
 

* * *

 

Jim was startled by this for multiple reasons, the first of which being that he couldn’t remember the last time his mother had actually referred to herself as “mom”. That and the fact that she was apologizing meant that something was definitely out of the ordinary.

What had Spock told her? Had he confessed to being drunk off chocolate before telling him? He chewed his lip nervously, noting the time quickly approaching nine.

The last message was from Spock.

* * *

 

Dear Jim,

I apologize for any misunderstanding which has occurred between us. I was informed by our mutual acquaintance Dr. Leonard McCoy that you paid him a visit in his medical center recently, and stressed the severity of the state that you were in. I am again very sorry for causing this.

I chose to inform you of my state of being during our intimate encounter because I felt it would be unfair to you if I did not. While logical, I have realized that the way I stated my condition at that point in time was rather cold. I was under the influence, yes, but it does not mean that the time spent with you was unpleasant or that I do not wish to continue physical contact with you.

I would like nothing more than to see you again before I depart tomorrow morning at 0800. I understand if you do not forgive me for my transgressions. If this is so, please allow me to wish you a prosperous and happy life.

Regards,

Spock  
  
---  
  
 

* * *

 

Fuck.

He couldn’t stop staring at the words - he wasn’t even reading them, he just just studying each word and how it connected with the one before it. He wanted to “continue physical contact” with him? Does that mean…? He had to find him.

His mother was calling him. The screen was replaced with a familiar number and a picture of a very disgruntled Winona Kirk.

“Mom, I got your note, but-”

“Jim, come to my office.” she cut in.

Jim sighed and put his head in his hands, “listen, mom, I _really_ need to see-”

“Jim,” Winona said in a raised voice, but it was mysteriously lacking anger, “come to my office. Now.”

“...Okay. See you in five.”

She hung up, leaving Jim staring at the message from Spock again. In reality, it would only take him two minutes to get to his mother’s office, but he needed the extra three minutes to lay on his bed and stare at the ceiling.

What if Spock left before he could see him? What if Spock felt exactly the same way Jim did and he was going to go back to Vulcan without ever seeing him again? His mother had genuinely picked the worst time to have a family heart-to-heart.

Jim solemnly rose and put on yesterday’s pants that were crumpled on the ground. He worried his bottom lip thinking about Spock leaving, about never seeing him again, never being able to fully tell him how he felt...

He rushed down the hallways. There was no way that he couldn’t see Spock again, he needed to. He had to tell him how much that night meant to him and how much he cared.

Before he knew it, his mother’s office was in front of him. He opened the door without knocking.

“Mom, I get that you need to talk to me, but I really have to-”

“Jim,” she greeted warmly, looking up from her desk, “have a seat.”

Spock was standing next to his mother, hands clasped behind his back. He looked as pleased with himself as he could, wearing a maroon sweater and a slightly raised eyebrow. It was enough to make Jim stop in his tracks, mid-step, mouth still open from the attempt at excusing himself from the gathering.

Winona was still looking at him expectantly, and nodded towards a chair next to him. Still stunned at the sight of Spock, he sat down without breaking eye contact.

“I’ve called you in here to finish our conversation about your job, which we unfortunately didn’t get to finish last time.” Jim finally pried his eyes away from the Vulcan to look at his mother.

“I have decided to offer you the position of ambassador.”

Jim opened his mouth to ask any question he could, but Spock beat him to it, offering a smooth, “this position would require you to accompany me back to Vulcan.”

“Wait,” he blinked, wanting to make sure that he wasn’t going to wake up from a very vivid dream, “you want me to be an ambassador? For _Earth_? I’m a janitor!”

Winona smiled warmly at him. Any of the anger from their previous meeting was gone, and suddenly the woman in front of him wasn’t an official in a government facility. She was just his mom.

“Jim, this place didn’t need a janitor. I talked Pike into letting you be here because believe it or not, I love you. And I know that you should be out there, doing something adventurous.” she smiled sadly, “just like George.”

Kirk felt tears threaten his eyes, which he would later blame on his lack of sleep from the night before. The idea of being out there, in space, was overwhelming, especially since he would be following in the footsteps of his father. He could finally become a man which would be proud of having the Kirk name.

“But - I -”

Spock cut in this time, “Jim, you have welcomed me to this foreign planet in every conceivable way. While the stories I was told about Earth were very vivid, nothing could have compared to what I was met with at this facility and by you. You -” Jim could swear he saw the man turn green, “made this place feel like home.”

He couldn’t stop himself from blushing. The man in front of him was so fucking _pure_ and amazing and he glowed like the sun. Jim was pretty sure that if he stared at him too long, he would go blind.

“You can have some time to think this over,” his mother added, leaning forward to break the gaze which had been locked between her son and the alien ambassador.

Jim shook his head quickly, breaking eye contact with Spock, “no need. I accept.”

Winona smiled widely and looked between the two men in her office. “Amazing. I’m so happy that I could do this for you. For both of you.”

They both blushed lightly, and Jim stood up to shake his mother’s hand across her large desk. She looked at him with an accusatory expression.

“Jim, I’m your mom. Give me a hug.” she stood and worked her way around to him, pulling him into a surprisingly tight embrace. As Jim went to pull away, Winona gripped him tightly and stood on her tiptoes to put her mouth to his ear, “he’s a good one. You two will be really happy, I just know it.”

The hug ended and now Jim’s eyes were watering for different reasons. He looked at Spock, who had silently followed Winona around and was standing surprisingly close to Jim. He wondered if he had heard what his mother had told him.

“So it will just be me and you, huh?” Jim asked Spock, beaming up at the man. He was still as handsome as ever, but the tension in his shoulders had dropped slightly. Spock began to visibly grin, something which Jim had only ever seen when the alien was drunk off his ass on chocolate at three in the morning.

“Unfortunately not,” he smirked, “the mission will include you, an engineer, and a medical officer to return to Vulcan.”

Jim furrowed his brow, “who’s the medical officer?”

There was a knock at the door. A very amused Winona Kirk called for whoever it was to come in. The door opened and an exhausted looking Leonard McCoy entered the office.

“You wanted to see me about the Vulcan assignment?” he asked, before looking to the two men next to Winona. Any trace of happiness or excitement dropped from his face.

Winona failed to stifle a laugh.

Leonard put his hands on his hips, “with all due respect Ms. Kirk, you have got to be _goddamn kidding me_!”

She continued to laugh, clutching at her stomach as Leonard rambled about having to share a shuttle with the two lovebirds.

Jim was broken out of watching the one-sided debate by a presence directly next to him. He looked up to see Spock peering down at him, their shoulders almost brushing. He silently reached out and presented his first two fingers.

He looked at the fingers and back up to the alien, and his face hurt from the smile he gave to Spock.

Instead of producing the same gesture, he nudged Spock’s hand with his own until he managed to intertwine their fingers. Spock turned a shade of green which Jim fondly remembered from their previous experience with touching hands.

Bones yelled, pointing an accusatory finger at the pair, “now would you look at that Winona? They’re gonna be having fucking _hand sex_ the entire way there and I’ll just have to sit through that! I thought we were friends!”

Winona’s only response was to wipe the tears from her eyes and continue to chuckle.

Jim clasped Spock’s hand like it was his lifeline, because in a way it was. It was his ticket out of his old life, of cleaning up after other people’s messes. He was finally going to get out of the shitty life which he had found himself stuck in. And there was no better person to be pulling him out of his own little world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you so much for all of the kudos and comments! i loved writing this and i'm working on more.


End file.
